Wool Sweaters, Linen Trousers, Manifesting Fall
Clothes Line Saga 004
Welcome back to Clothes Line Saga, a series devoted to fit pics and associated commentary.
Today I’m pulling a double shot: one post, two looks. Talk about bang for your buck.
I wore this on the evening of Thursday, September 4th.
That night, I went out to Fabulosa Books in the Castro for the launch of the latest issue of the Radicchio Salad zine, “Gay Summer.” For those unaware, Radicchio Salad is my dear friend Ori’s burgeoning conceptual food media empire, the ~vibe~ of which exists somewhere around the intersection of Bon Appétit, Pee-wee’s Playhouse, and Butt Magazine. This was the fifth installment of the zine, but the first to be published in physical form (I contributed a brief write up of Bob Dylan albums and their equivalent mustards to the first issue). As such, it called for a physical celebration.
This is one of the great pleasures of attending events: putting together a little outfit, or, to use a slightly more affected term, “getting a fit off.” Beyond just showing up, putting some effort into your presentation is the best way to signal that you care.
It also, in a mild but measurable way, makes an impact on the world around you. We all deserve to encounter a bit of beauty in our day-to-day lives. Living in San Francisco, I get more than most, but it’s no thanks to the average ensemble you might find on a man lingering outside the Verve at the corner of Church and Market: Allbirds, “performance” fabric, slim-fit silhouette straight of the Obama era. I don’t need these guys to dress like me (I wouldn’t want them to), but I would prefer that they apply some small amount of thought toward the way they make themselves up each day. A beautiful city deserves to be populated by a beautiful people—or at the very least, an inoffensive-looking people.
The headline piece here is the sweater, which I copped from O’Connell’s last month in anticipation of autumn. I’ve had my eye on their range of knitwear for a year or two, and I finally made up my mind to pull the trigger on this piece. It’s handknit in Scotland and made of 100% merino wool.
The color is a handsome charcoal-brown melange (they call it “mink”) studded here and there with pops of white. The wool is plenty heavy, good for rambling through fog and damp, but it’s a relatively open weave, which makes it surprisingly breathable. It was probably a bit too heavy for this particular evening—September is peak San Francisco summer—but I was still able to get away with it.
I had a hard time figuring out what size to order. The sweaters are sold according to chest size, but O’Connell’s recommends that you order a size down from your typical jacket measurement due to the sweater’s generous cut. I typically take a 40 in a jacket, which would imply a 38 in the sweater, but I went the opposite direction and ordered a 42. I’ve put on a bit of body mass recently (mostly muscle, I hope), and I was aiming for a roomy, Crystalline fit. It was the right call: the sweater rolls and flows according to its own internal logic. It’s something I wear, as opposed to something that just sits on my body.
I stuck to an earthy palette with everything else: brown cords, gunmetal Oboz (which I’ve roasted to a nice warm tone verging on taupe), black Timex Expedition. Fall isn’t here quite yet, but I’m doing my best to manifest it.
I wore this a few days later, on the afternoon of September 6th.
That day, I hit the inaugural installment of Patina Studies, a menswear popup inspired by New York’s raucous Alfargo’s functions (more on this soon). I figured it would be a well-dressed crowd, but I didn’t want to overdo it and show up in anything too fussy. It was a warm, sunny day—San Francisco summer, remember?—so ties and worsted wool were non-starters. The best clothes are those you wear naturally, those you can’t help but wear.
For me, that means linen trousers from Casatlantic. I’ve been living in these pants all summer, from the weathered benches of the Hollywood Bowl to the rolling hills of Sonoma County. The linen feels light as a feather while wearing it, but it’s remarkably heavyweight, with a subtle surface sheen; you’d be forgiven for mistaking it for waxed canvas from a distance. The legs drape beautifully, anchored by cuffs I had my tailor make.
Besides a couple tune-ups with an iron, I haven’t had to do anything to keep them in good shape. They keep looking better with mileage, the way good clothes should. Lean into the wrinkle.
Up top, I paired the pants with an Oxford cloth button down shirt. This one is about as classic as they get: white, roomy, from Brooks Brothers. Not the most thrilling garment in my closet, but it’s a “can’t go wrong” kinda thing, the sartorial equivalent of a crisp can of seltzer.
As I’ve written previously, I’m a staunch proponent of layers (which is why I’m looking forward to fall, prime layering season), but it can be tricky in the warmer months. Open shirt/undershirt is a simple solution. Oxford is a hardy fabric that works just fine as a top layer, and the wide, boxy shape of the shirt gives it the kind of oomph you’d expect out of jacket. Just be careful drinking your iced latte—you’re not hiding any stains here.
Lastly, the hat. As a Dodgers fan living in the Bay Area, I’m faced with a choice between repping my team and repping my city. As cool as it might be, I’ll never wear anything bearing the logo of the vile Giants, so I’ve had to get creative. This is how I split the baby: with a hat from the San Francisco Seals, a minors team that played in the Pacific Coast League from 1903 to 1957.
Until I move back to Los Angeles, it’s the best I can do.
good for you for having a backbone in regards to your hat. too many times, i'll see menswear guys wear hats without loyalty... an accessory without any personal meaning.